


You Gonna Get Sloppy?

by Finntrollhammaren



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Charles is bold, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Gay, M/M, Making Out, Season 2, These tags mean nothing, a bunch of sloppy boys, charles is a bit of a bottom in this, he just feels like being held, im sorry, it is a rare occurance, let it happen, sloppy gay boys, they're all sloppy, when he gets sloppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 18:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18784045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finntrollhammaren/pseuds/Finntrollhammaren
Summary: Charles decides to 'pal around' with Dethklok after their other 'manager' 'left' because he was a... pedophile. Mhm.Gets a little TOO sloppy and ends up making out with Pickles. Awkward next morning avoidance occurs.





	You Gonna Get Sloppy?

**Author's Note:**

> (I'm still doing my multi-chapter fic, just thought this would be a nice one-shot)
> 
> I KNOW CHARLES TOPS. I do personally think he can occasionally be a bit of a switch if he's in a particular mood. Ex: Very drunk. But this fic isn't full on sex anyway so. But yeah. He's gonna act a tad submissive here. Thank u. Hope u enjoy anywayyyy.

Charles Foster Offdensen was always a man of his word. Always. No matter what. This meant, when Nathan had asked him 'You gonna get fucking sloppy?' on the topic of drinking with them, and he said that he was 'going to get VERY sloppy'.. that he was going to. He would drink more than he ever did on a regular basis. Get absolutely trashed, just for them. It was what they wanted, and would make them happy. He could never lie to his boys. How rude would that be?. He called a local bar ahead of time (just so they knew to have enough alcohol-- he was being polite) and got the dethbus ready, changing into a slightly more casual suit in case it got ruined while they were on their adventure. Soon they were off, reaching the establishment in record time and getting ready to raise hell. This poor bar didn't know what was coming.

And so, as to be expected, the drinks and shots kept coming and it was all happening so quickly that he ended up losing count after 'ten' or something like that. There was no pacing himself tonight. The glasses he wore were doing absolutely nothing to help with his vision, seeing doubles of everything and everyone. But his hands were still able to grasp whatever drink was placed in front of him with ease, like he was a robot or something (hardy har har). Pickles was the one that seemed to keep ordering him drinks, their tab probably well over a few hundred dollars at this point. It would be a headache to deal with it all later on when he had sobered up a bit. Could you file away a bender for your taxes? No? Well, shit. 

"C'mon, dood! Keep drinkin!" he could (barely) hear Pickles shout in his ear, whining a bit under his breath in response and waving his hand dismissively. He was trying to push himself more than what he was used to, but the room was already spinning and he wanted it to stop. To make it slow down for two seconds. The red haired drummer appeared in front of him and furrowed his pierced eyebrows, grabbing his jaw and looking him over quickly with his equally terrible judgement. "Yer fine. Lets gooooo Charlie!" he clapped his hands together and shot in the air, thrusting a glass into the CFO's hand to which it was tossed back like it was water. When alcohol stopped tasting like anything, you knew you had way too much to drink and should PROBABLY slow down.

But Dethklok never knew what slowing down meant. They were a group of well oiled partying machines. No one could put party them. Not that anyone would be able to try.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A few (more like a dozen or so.. give or take) drinks later the band was sprawled out in different corners of the bar having the time of their lives. Skwisgaar and Toki were already sitting in a dark corner much too close for comfort, probably mumbling a bunch of sweet nothings to each other that they would become insanely defensive of if anyone happened to overhear them. End up blaming it on the alcohol and claim they were just kidding around. It was no real secret that they were some vague resemblance of an item, but it 'wasn't metals' to be in a relationship with a man-- so it stayed a secret. Which was.. fair enough. They still pretended to bring girls over (but Charles always saw them being paid off and shooed away when the rest of the band stopped caring). It was their dirty little secret, and Charles would keep it that way for them. Wasn't his place to 'out' anyone. Pretty cute, though.

Charles took it upon himself to walk around and do a headcount of the boys, confirming everyone was still here since the dethbus was outside waiting for them. They had been parked in the parking lot since their arrival a few hours prior. Poor guys. The employees definitely didn't get paid enough for.. all of it. But that wasn't totally his problem. They chose this job. This lifestyle. His eyes soon landed upon Pickles and a goofy smile appeared on his face, noticing he seemed to be alone with a bottle in his hand at a nearby booth, not really paying attention to his surroundings. Perfect time for him to saunter over and start a conversation. 

"Pickles." He mumbled, honestly still sounding very composed even if he didn't look the part at all. Charles' hair was wavy and sticking out everywhere, his shirt was half-unbuttoned which showed off some chest hair and pale skin, and his shoelaces were loose and it was honestly a miracle that he hadn't tripped over himself already. Pickles heard his name and looked up, patting the spot beside him and taking a swig from his drink. "Heya, Chief. Yer lookin' good." He piped out, and Charles couldn't help but feel a blush rise to his cheeks. He was more than likely referring to how drunk he looked, but still. "You too, Pickles. Very good." He caught himself licking his lips as he shamelessly looked the drummer up and down, reaching out to fix one of his dreadlocks. He was quite cute, all things considered. But then again, he had always thought that. Pickles had a unique charm about him, one that just seemed to drive Charles' thoughts wild at the worst of times.

"Ya hittin on me, Charlie?" He asked coyly, appearing to smirk as some sort of invitation for more. Charles had never really coined Pickles as the type of guy to swing both ways, even considering the fact he was in Snakes n' Barrels and used to wear more eyeliner than most women. It seemed too good to be true. He would never say it out loud, but glam-rock Pickles was something he had gotten off to more than once in his time of need. It was far from being one of his proudest moments. Quite the opposite, actually. He just... didn't talk about it. Ever. But maybe that would change tonight.

Charles blinked rapidly and cleared his throat after a few moments of silence, actually forgetting how to speak properly due to all of the drinks in his system. His brain was having a hard time functioning, okay? All of his reactions were pretty delayed. "I suppose so." He finally forced himself to say, hearing Pickles laugh a bit and wipe his mouth against the back of his hand. The drinks were making him act a lot more bold. He would NEVER hit on the drummer sober-- much less admit it right to his face. Alcohol truly was liquid courage after all.

Now, Charles was never one to be spontaneous. He was always very calculated, careful, and precise. That was his thing. Always be five steps ahead of someone else. It was.. important in his line of work. More specifically when you had to manage a band like Dethklok. Very important. Being in control of a situation was something he had grown used to. Know exactly what he was doing, and why he was doing it.

Well, sober Charles wasn't here right now. Drunk Charles was. All he knew was that he wanted Pickles desperately, and would do anything to have him. He was glad that he was wasted beyond belief right now. He took one more look at Pickles before climbing into his lap and clashing their lips together, arms draping around the other man's neck and constricting as close to him as he could get. All he could really think about was that the music and patrons in here were much too loud and Pickles' mouth tasted like a concoction of the hardest liquors you could get. He really had no idea how the drummer was able to function as well as he did. Suppose you would build up a resistance after a while, though.

Pickles wasn't really sure what was going on. One second he was sitting there and minding his own business, the next his usually uptight manager was straddling his lap with his tongue in his mouth. It felt good. Way too good. Not something he would expect to come from someone like Charles. His hands made their way to Charles' back and grabbed fistfuls of fabric, keeping him secured so he didn't somehow fall backward out of his lap and onto the table. The last thing they needed was to make a scene right now. Especially with the rest of the band so close by. But they didn't matter. Only Charles did. His eyes stayed closed as he kissed Charles back almost feverishly, realizing this was the one thing he had been missing lately. He could always tell there was some.. weird, unspoken tension between them whenever they had stupid meetings about who-knows-what. He could just never figure out what it was. But subconsciously he always longed to be close to him. He just wished he had realized it sooner. Charles, as he was with most things, was an amazing kisser. He never even had it this good with any of the girls he met after the show. Then again, he usually didn't kiss them. Too lazy, and they tended to not be worth the extra effort anyway.

The rest of the band definitely saw what was going on throughout the night, but they were all too drunk to say much of anything. For all they knew, they were just seeing things. Surely Charles wasn't making out with Pickles of all people. Also, Toki and Skwisgaar couldn't really talk. It would be more than a little bit hypocritical.

But, after a while they eventually pulled away for air (well, more like the bar was closing) and Charles reluctantly paid their tab (he did not want to discuss the number of zeros on that bill. The band probably made that bar very wealthy). They then all got themselves onto the dethbus in one piece, being driven home and awkwardly stumbling back to their individual living quarters. Charles momentarily considered following Pickles to his bedroom to continue their rendezvous in the bar, but had sobered up JUST enough to know that was a bad idea. He also wouldn't be able to explain himself in the morning. It was a damn shame, though. Pickles' mouth tasted pretty good, and he could only imagine what the rest of him was like.

Eventually, morning rolled around. Charles woke up with the nastiest hangover ever, but Pickles was as alert and chipper as ever. He was truly a miracle. Charles had at least forced himself to get up and change into his suit, fix his hair, brush his teeth, and pop a couple of advil. Although he wanted nothing more than to sleep for the rest of the day, he still had meetings scheduled with the band. About their next tour, merch ideas, and the works. He was expecting them to be as useful as they always were, leaving him to decide everything on their behalf and get yelled at for it later. It was the usual for him. But it worked, as much of a disaster as it may have been.

He cleared his throat as he entered the main room they held most meetings in, sighing afterwards as most of them were hunched over the table groaning vague obscenities under their breath. Expect for... Pickles. He could tell that something was up with him, as he looked way too chipper for an early morning meeting following a reckless bender. Charles watched him for a second before shaking his head and pulling out his papers, trying to ignore the green orbs currently burning holes in the top of his head. "Hey, Chief. Had a lot of fun with ya' last night. We should uh.. do it again." He grinned, and all Charles could do was squint for a moment and shrug his shoulders. "Right. So, boys. Tour. Chop chop. We have to schedule dates. Places. Merch. Come on."

Poor guy really didn't remember. Or did he?

Pickles definitely planned on finding that out later tonight. Maybe after a few drinks. Or see just how confident Charles was without alcohol in his system.

He was looking forward to jogging his memory.


End file.
